My boots hit the puddle hard
Ripples expand and keep expanding
Until they can’t anymore.
Specks of water hit my face
And I don’t wipe them away.
The puddle goes still
Making it seem like a mirror
The reflection is so vivid
It almost looks real
I reach towards it
maybe if I touch it
I will switch places with person in the puddle,
But I only touch the cold water.
I take my hand and wipe the water off onto my jeans
Leaving a mysterious handprint.
My hand is cold now from the
Autumn climate and breeze.
I take one last look at the puddle,
And walk away into the growing fog
Never to see that miniature pond again.